


Graven Image

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Porn, Breathplay, Complicated Relationships, Dubious Consent, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 07:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: "Would you kill me if you could?"Or, Catelyn Stark and Tywin Lannister find common ground, in bed.





	Graven Image

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiaf rarepairs prompt: "Catelyn Stark/Tywin Lannister, post Ned/Joanna deaths: There’s something about being with someone who understands grief as well as they both do."

“Would you kill me if you could?”

Catelyn lies all atangle, head rested atop the silver gold wisps of Lord Tywin's chest. “Pardon, my lord?” she asks as if they are making chatter over a noisy feast, as if he did he did not just fuck her through his mattress and leave his seed drying on her thighs.

His face is as inscrutable as ever, but if Catelyn had to wager what he was feeling, she would guess he was amused. “If you could,” he says, “would you kill me? It would not be that difficult. I am already all alone in my chambers with you, guards dismissed, naked as the day I was born. I hope you realise I do not usually expose myself so.”

_Then why me?_ Catelyn wonders, but she ought to answer his question before asking her own. She takes a moment to dwell upon it, ponders an answer both proud and safe.

“You are Hand of the King,” she says. “It would plunge the realm into chaos.”

After all, is that not why she's here? To keep the peace? She's a hostage, the Lannisters have made no attempt to hide that. At least they have treated her better than they ever did her daughter, but that is not saying very much. She does not know if Lord Tywin considers her under his protection or simply doesn't like anyone else coming near what he thinks is his, but truthfully she doesn't want to.

Tywin raises an eyebrow, and Catelyn is more pleased than she ought to be to think she's surprised him. “So it would,” he says. “However, that's not a consideration many people take into account on a quest for revenge.”

She thinks of Robb, humbled and humiliated after having bent the knee, and all the way back in Winterfell. She winces, and then forces the thought away. “What makes you think I want revenge?” she murmurs, her voice flat, dead.

“Because how could you not?”

His fingers card through her hair and he's almost gentle. It makes her shudder. Tywin is nothing like Ned – he is a cold, heartless, ruthless man. She could not bear to lie with him otherwise. She knows he doesn't love her, and that is good; if only she could be so sure he had loved no-one else.

“You know I never wanted your husband dead.”

Catelyn pushes herself up. She does know that. Taken from her, yes – but not dead. But it hardly matters when he is the one here with her.

“Be that as it may,” and unthinkingly, she wraps her hand around his throat, “does it change anything?”

Tywin takes a shallow gasp. His cock twitches back to life beneath the sheets.

Catelyn reaches to grab that too. The covers in the capitol are sheer silk, not thick furs; they hide nothing. She looks down and examines Lord Tywin's face, carefully. His green eyes – emerald green, they're always called, but Catelyn thinks they look more like the pond scum from her homeland – shine. She feels like he's daring her.

As she tightens her hand around his throat, his cock only grows harder in her hand. His breaths come out harsh and panting as he struggles for air, eyes drifting shut. _He enjoys this._ He looks much older as Catelyn chokes the life out of him.

She wonders about his wife, the woman who ruled him while he ruled Westeros, and perhaps who rules him still, long after her death. Catelyn does not know why Tywin decided she was the woman he wanted to fuck, after years of at least pretending to be above such things (but the way he moves when he's inside her makes her doubt it, somehow). Perhaps she reminds him of her. There are rumours about them circling through the keep, and many think Lord Tywin will marry her. It would keep the Starks in line, she is still young enough and fertile, and he still needs an heir. Catelyn can admire the elegance of the solution.

But she knows he wouldn't be so foolish. He can fuck her every which way he likes, he can't trust her.

Tywin is scarcely breathing at all now, while his cock drips into her palm. She watches his chest heave up and down. His body is hard and lean, not like Ned, who at half Tywin's age had a bit of a belly she used to kiss and stroke and tease.

Still, the tighter she squeezes, the more she forces Lord Tywin, Hand of the Kind, Protector of the Realm, Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock out of him, and leaves behind a man. A man who can be killed like any other.

She drives him right up to the brink and–

_Would you kill me if you could?_

She lets go.

Tywin gasps, like an animal, while Catelyn turns aside and stares at her hands. They're wet with his fluids and her own sweat. She never thought she had adjusted to the cold of the North, until she came to the hot, sticky capitol.

“Of course not,” she answers. “If I killed you, I'd be alone.”


End file.
